


The Actions of Selfish Playboys and Angry Cops

by erikahk



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 22:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erikahk/pseuds/erikahk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Selfish playboys were just that. Selfish. What Quentin Lance ended up discovering was that Oliver Queen was also prone to reckless acts of stupid bravery. Quentin just didn't expect to be on the receiving end of it. (set during season 1)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Actions of Selfish Playboys and Angry Cops

**Author's Note:**

> Indulgent bit of Oliver whump beta-ed by black-raven135.

Oliver buttoned up his brown jacket and breathed out the cool air of late winter. Exiting the factory through its back door, he headed out to the street and nodded at the construction staff gathered at the front working on the club’s main entrance. Hands in his pockets, he walked through busy streets of the Glades towards the garage that worked as a front for the Bratva. 

The afternoon was quickly vanishing behind the horizon, replaced by the orange tones of early evening, as he used the alleyway as a shortcut. When he turned into the alleyway, it was quiet as usual which sharpened his senses to the sound of footsteps behind him. He didn't slow down, but certainly coiled his muscles, ready for action if necessary. 

He turned one more time and waited behind a dark wall, leaping on the man's throat when he made the very same turn a few seconds later. He already expected a blow which he avoided at the same time he spun, his follower now against the wall. He hadn't expected an attack from three more men who came up behind him. 

He dropped the man, blocked the third and fourth blow, feeling a fifth connection to his leg which had come up from behind. He dropped to one knee and blocked a series of kicks that followed, trying to find a breach in which to escape the assault. The four men had him surrounded and continued their beating but he managed to avoid most from connecting until they suddenly stopped. 

"So, richie rich." The man that had been following him said. "It seems Oliver freaking Queen can actually take care of himself in a fight."

Oliver stood, willing his breathing to slow down. "I've been in enough fights to learn a few things."

The man laughed. "So I've read, although beating up paparazzi and other kids hardly qualifies as practice."

Oliver glanced at the shadows as two more men emerged.

**~*~**

Quentin nodded as he scrutinized the man before him. The scarred face indicated he had seen plenty of action in his day; the tense jaw, as he held his gaze, said he wasn't kidding.

"All right," Quentin said. "I guess I can ask somewhere else then." He turned around and started walking.

"You'll regret it!"

Quentin looked back. "Is that a threat?"

His CI glanced from one side to another as he walked over a few steps. "No. It's a warning. They aren't kidding."

"Well, I know that, thank you."

He resumed his walk back to his car, leaving the man shaking his head to himself. He stopped for a moment to ponder on the words his CI had said to him when he heard a loud yelp coming from the alley where he had parked his car. 

Quentin narrowed his eyes as he gave a couple of steps forward. A thump, then a knock on what seemed like a trash can, followed by wallops and grunts. 

He followed the sounds and as he turned into the alley, he saw a man being held upright by his neck by another in a hoodie. Three men lay moaning on the ground curled into themselves, two more stood behind menacingly rubbing their fists, ready to pound on the poor soul who was having his airway constricted. The poor soul wasn't totally defenseless though and kicked the attacker away, falling on the ground coughing for air. The man toppled back and extracted a small pocket knife and that was the cue that Quentin needed to pull out his gun. 

"SCPD, stop right there!"

The three men that were standing froze in their tracks and slowly turned towards him.

"Knife down."

The man in the hoodie lifted his head and Quentin saw the shadow of a smirk on his face. The hand holding the knife waved slightly.

"I said, knife down!"

He had barely finished saying it when he saw two dark blurs jump up from the ground straight at him. He fired his gun on instinct and heard a cry at the same time he was pushed back; the air was knocked out of his lungs as he collided with the wall, gun dropping.

He opened his eyes to the sight of hoodie guy coming towards him, his knife jumping from one hand to another as he chuckled. 

"Stupid cop!"

Quentin glanced at the coughing guy who was now rising to his feet, the setting sun shining on his face and revealing none other than Oliver Queen. Quentin huffed loudly. He was busted by a gang of punks and was about to be gutted all of Oliver freaking Queen.

That was just his luck. 

"I'm gonna teach you some manners, cop!"

Quentin twisted and tried to get away from the two guys holding him against the wall but was held firmly in place as the knife approached. He wiggled desperately exhaling angry breaths as the white gleam a smile came closer. It soon vanished from sight as Queen struggled to get the knife from the attacker's hand, both dropping to the ground.

The other three joined in the fight, their punches and kicks directed at Queen's back until he managed to roll free and their attack left the hoodie the sole recipient of the blows instead.

The assault on him didn't stop; the men moved to kick Queen's head until the struggle stopped, Hoodie climbed away from the billionaire's limp body, blood dripping from his knife. 

Quentin swallowed and moved his gaze to a growing red smear on the expensive jacket. 

"You fool!" one of the guys yelled. "He's worth nothing to us dead!"

Hoodie turned around and glared at the speaker. "Oh, yeah? You were the one who was supposed to neutralize him!" He puffed. "Beaten up by a spoiled brat!" He turned around. "And now we also need to deal with this cop!" He waved his hand around harshly.

Quentin scowled. "That's you plan? You're after some big bucks?"

"Thanks to your stupid bravery, we'll have to take you in too," he said as he walked closer, his knife waving up and down towards Quentin.

"You crazy?" a gang member cradling a bleeding shoulder said. "You take in a cop and SCPD will be all over us!"

Hoodie didn't take his eyes off Quentin. "They'll be all over us anyway for taking in the playboy. Might as well take an extra bargaining chip if he doesn't make it."

Before Quentin could protest, he was knocked to the ground and felt something connect to the back of his head, sending him to oblivion.

**~*~**

Quentin slowly awoke with a pounding head. He opened his eyes, but it took a while for him to adjust to his surroundings; concrete walls, a slit of light coming from under the door and a grey shadow coming from a small window near the ceiling. He got up, searched his pockets to find nothing but lint and walked towards the door, tapping it with his hands. All he felt was a cold metal with no handle. He walked to the opposite wall where the window was located but not only was it too high, but it was also too small for anyone to get through.

A metal bang made him snap his head around, light slowly starting to filter through the opening door. He quickly positioned himself behind it to get the better of whoever was on the other side but nothing came in. Instead, a body was tossed inside and fell on the floor lifeless before the door was closed back. 

He hurried to Queen's side, feeling the now cold wetness of his jacket as he turned him around. He checked the kid's neck, releasing a breath of relief when he found a pulse, thready but present. He pushed his jacket aside then lifted his torn shirt to reveal a couple of sloppy bandages in place, one already drenched in red and the other heading in that direction.

Quentin felt the area surrounding the wound; it was located under his last rib on the left side, hopefully avoiding any major organs. From the amount of blood, it was deep enough to be a problem. He needed medical attention immediately. If his spleen had been ruptured he would be dead already, so he considered that to be a good sign. He saw blood still oozing, dripping from under the mess of gauze, then placed his hands on top to put on sufficient pressure to stop the bleeding. 

Queen moved slightly and moaned but fortunately remained unconscious. Quentin scrutinized the rest of Queen's chest and abdomen, seeing the various groupings of scars, some of them ugly enough to make him almost shudder. The cuts had been deep and large enough to split his belly open, but had been placed strategically so as not to reach his organs. Whoever had done those was a pro. The kid really hadn't been kidding when he said he'd been tortured. 

"God, Queen. I guess you'll have another one to add to your collection." Quentin didn't know why he was speaking out loud, but he preferred hearing his own voice than the ragged and pained breathing sounds coming from the unconscious man lying before him.

He then noticed that Queen seemed to look even paler, but it was hard to tell in the darkness of the room. Quentin put a hand on the kid's neck, feeling it cool and clammy; his breathing was fast and his pulse irregular. Shock. He checked the wound again, glad to see blood was no longer seeping through his fingers, but worried at the small pool it had formed under his jacket. 

With the bleeding having nearly stopped, he only had to pray his intestines hadn't been punctured or he would have to deal with an infection to top all that.

**~*~**

Consciousness slowly seeped through the fog in his head. Oliver tried to cling to it, but it slipped away, only for it to come back sharper before it faded away again. He continued on this cycle until sharp pain cut through and split him in two, making him squeeze his eyes shut as he groaned and tried to curl around it.

Something prevented him from doing so, hands holding him down as panic started to rise, his arms flailing trying to keep the hands away. He was pressed down by his shoulders, a male voice filtering through but Oliver was unable to recognize any words. He reacted to the firm grip which now extended to his arms and managed to get one of them to obey and grip the neck of whoever was grabbing him. 

Strength faded away from him as tearing pain shot from his midsection and made his arm flop down lifelessly, leaving him gasping for breath, again trying to curl around himself. 

"God, Queen! I'm just trying to help!"

Oliver opened his eyes and saw a dark blur slowly coalesce into the shape of Quentin Lance looking down at him. Oliver frowned as he saw the dark room behind Lance's head, memories of the attack flooding back into his mind. 

"S-sorry," he managed to mumble. 

"Dammit!" Lance's eyes went down to the source of Oliver's agony. "You've made the bleeding start again."

Oliver placed a hand on his gut, which felt like it had split in two, and at same time felt the hot stickiness seeping through wet fabric. He lifted his heavy hand to look at the reddened tips of his fingers then groaned and squeezed his eyes shut as he felt pressure being applied on his injury. 

"Sorry about that, but I'm afraid you can't afford to lose any more blood."

Oliver fought back tears and was on the brink of hyperventilation as his side felt like it was being torn from him. The tenseness all over slowly faded away and he saw spots dance in front of his eyes as his body started to go limp. His breathing evened out but was still shallow and fast as consciousness failed him. 

Tapping on his face brought him back but his eyelids were too heavy to open more than a slit.

"Hey, you'd better stay awake with me. As much as I hate you I'd rather you stayed alive for me to continue hating."

Oliver would have laughed at that if he wasn't busy trying not to pass out. 

"You'll own me big time for this."

He tried to whisper a response but nothing more than an unintelligible murmur managed to escape his lips.

"What's that?"

It took Oliver a few seconds to gather some strength back from his earlier murmuring attempt. "You're welcome," he tried to say.

He guessed that this time something actually made it out because Lance just puffed in indignation. 

"Yeah, that was really stupid, you know."

Oliver nodded.

"But then you're not exactly known for making smart decisions," Lance continued.

Oliver's lips actually quirked to a smile.

Lance shook his head. "You manage to be annoying even when you're bleeding to death."

Several minutes passed in silence before the pressure eased. Oliver attempted to lift his head, but didn't make it to the one inch mark. He lolled his head to look to the detective now sitting next to him. 

"Thanks," he breathed out. 

Lance huffed loudly. "Don't thank me yet. Besides…" he paused. "It should have been me bleeding to death, so…" Oliver thought Lance almost groaned. "Thanks." He huffed again. "Even though I'm now also stuck here thanks to you."

Oliver opened his eyes not having realized he had closed them. "Sorry…" He breathed in and out for a few moments. "Wha… what do they want?" His voice sounded husky but it was audible. 

"You really have to ask that?"

Oliver looked blankly at the detective, his brain working slowly.

"They must really have hit you hard. What do you think they want with you, Queen?"

Oliver nodded then closed his eyes. He wanted to get up and try to do something, but even keeping his eyes open seemed like it was too much effort at the moment. 

"Can't we get out?" he whispered.

"Not unless I could chop you into small pieces and fit you through that slit of a window." 

Oliver opened his eyes and searched the walls until he saw what Lance was talking about.

"And trust me, that is a really tempting idea."

Oliver managed to smile. "You can do that if I don't make it."

Lance chuckled. "I'll hold you to it."

**~*~**

Queen eventually lost the battle to stay conscious and drifted away. Quentin tried to stir the man awake to no use and began accessing his condition to see if he should be worried or not.

Still pale, skin still cool and clammy, breathing and pulse still fast. He checked the bandages but he didn't seem to be bleeding anymore. He hoped it was a symptom from the earlier blood loss than some kind of internal bleeding. 

He skin surrounding the injury didn't look that much different than the rest of his body and his abdomen wasn't rigid, but it could be too early to tell. 

Quentin shook his head as he looked at the pained expression on the boy's face, a boy who was nearly in his thirties but still behaved as a boy, and wondered what kind of twisted fate had made both of them end up being kidnapped together. Of course, the plan was originally to just kidnap Queen, but Quentin ended up meeting with his CI a corner away from where the playboy had been attacked. Just to send an actually good day to hell. 

And now, he found himself having to care for an injured Oliver Queen. 

Quentin remembered the number of times he'd wanted to teach that kid a lesson and exhaled loudly. 

Too late.

A little too late for that.

Queen hadn't changed and would never change. That playboy persona was so deeply ingrained in that head of his that even being trapped on an island for five years hadn't changed it. He was still a spoiled brat even if a scarred one now. And that made him even more dangerous. He'd had a chance to return a changed person and finally accept some responsibility and what does he choose to do? Open a nightclub; in the Glades of all places. 

Which made him wonder where the hell that bodyguard of his had been. He remembered him. Diggle. The man was good. He would never leave Queen unprotected like that.

Stirring interrupted his thoughts. Quentin looked down at Queen's face and saw fluttering eyelids fighting to open. When they did, glassy blue eyes looked straight past Quentin, not really seeing anything for several moments until recognition dawned on his face. 

"Hey," Quentin said to check the response he would get.

"Hey." Queen's lips moved but nothing but a crook made it out.

"How are you feeling?"

He imagined Queen must have tried to say something but he coughed instead, his expression crunching to one of pain. He moaned weakly and took in a few breaths before nodding faintly. 

Quentin didn't know what a nod was supposed to mean, but since no verbal response came, he imagined it meant mostly alive, but not enough to bother with a real answer. Quentin shook his head. He needed to get something out of that kid to keep him awake.

"Hey!" he called when Queen's eyelids started drooping again. "Don't fade on me again. It's night and you're supposed to be wide awake at this hour and only sleep during the day."

If Quentin didn't know better he would say Queen almost smiled at that. 

"Okay," Queen crooked.

"Okay," Quentin repeated. "Hopefully, it won't be long before someone comes looking for you. Your bodyguard, for example." Queen lolled his head to the side. "Where the hell is he?"

"Ditched him at the club," he said barely above a whisper. "Wanted some time to myself."

"Typical." Quentin almost snorted out a laugh. "You ditch your bodyguard at your club and go out for a walk all alone in the Glades. Wearing that expensive jacket, watch and sneakers?"

The sound Queen made could have been a cough or a chuckle but it sounded like neither. "Not my brightest idea, yeah?"

"Not really," he answered. "What will he do when he senses you're gone for too long?"

Queen closed his eyes. "I've got a tendency to do that and only get back home in the morning. So…"

"Geez," Quentin leaned back against the wall. "That's real responsible of you, Queen!" 

"Yeah…" 

A few seconds passed in silence.

"'Bout you?" Queen asked trying to lift his head to look at him but failing.

Quentin looked up at the ceiling. "I clocked out before I left the station."

"Great…" 

"Well, if they're after some ransom money they must have contacted your family already."

The face Queen made showed he wasn't too happy about that. Quentin wasn't really expecting that reaction from him. The anger that displayed on his face lasted for about a second before it was hidden and pain showed back, most of which appeared to be on the verge of control. It was actually very impressive. Quentin had seen even cops with similar injuries either whining or half crying at this point and he kind of expected Queen to be just the same.

He hadn't forgotten Queen's reaction from earlier. After so many years on the force, he'd learned that you could know everything from a person's character from looking at them when they're in pain. Some would show nothing but pure cowardice while others would display nothing but bravery. Some would be whiners and criers and others would prove to be true fighters.The last kind were the dangerous ones. They could lash out and react at blinding pain in a way that could result in the death of whoever had been unfortunate enough to be tending to them in this state. 

The last person he would expect to fit in that category was Oliver Queen. But then, Queen had always been the reckless aggressive type; his various arrests were a testament to that. Not to mention the torture he had confessed to have endured on the island. If he added the fact that the kid was also an irresponsible bastard, he would get the Oliver Queen he was staring at that moment. 

Queen, the scarred reckless kid with bolts of stupid bravery. If he were someone else he would have learned his lesson by now. 

Glassy pain-filled eyes looked up at him. There was something else underneath that, but Quentin couldn't pinpoint what. 

"S-sorry you had to get involved."

Quentin looked down at him, wondering if he had forgotten their earlier exchange. "You already apologized."

Queen shook his head slightly. "Saying… it's never enough." His eyes drooped close.

"Hey," Quentin called as he shook him slightly. 

They slid open to a slit and Quentin could see the effort it was to keep them that way. 

"You should stay conscious." Stubborn kid. "Talk to me."

Queen let out a loud breath. "About?"

He shrugged. "I don't know!" The last thing he wanted was to hear a monologue from Oliver Queen, but right now it was the only thing he had in order to keep the kid alive. 

"What would I have to say that you'd like to hear?" he whispered. 

"I don't care!" Quentin snapped. "Recite a damn poetry, just don't fall asleep."

Queen had the nerve to actually quirk his lips. "Don't know poetry."

"Of course not." Quentin huffed. "You dropped out of enough private schools."

"Hmmm…"

"Hey!" He shook Queen again. "Open your eyes!" 

His order was slowly complied before they drifted close again.

"Dammit, Queen! If you make me beg, I'll make you pay!"

He made a noise that could have been anything. Quentin imagined it was some attempt at obedience that failed because his eyes started to close again. Quentin shook his head. He looked down at the still body and pursed his lips before poking Queen's injury with a finger with enough strength to have the kid nearly jump up with pain if he hadn't been so weak. 

Queen tried to turn around and curl into himself but stopped halfway, half coughing and half moaning. "God!"

When he saw tears threatening to spill from the kid's eyes, Quentin almost felt bad for what he had done. Queen breathed heavily for several minutes before his lungs settled in the same rhythm they had been working before. 

"T-thanks," he said with a moan. "I think."

"Yeah… sorry about that, but you are really too goddamn stubborn."

"Yeah…"

Quentin sighed and looked down at the man before him. "Look, Queen. We're gonna make it out soon. You'll just have to hang on for a while."

"'Kay." 

Quentin watched as Oliver Queen’s chest rose and fell in rapid succession. He could see small tremors rocking through his body so he covered the exposed abdomen with the shirt and jacket, buttoning it all the way up. The tremors didn't stop and Queen's head slowly lolled as his eyes drifted close. 

Quentin removed his own coat and placed it on top of the kid's body, tucking it neatly so no heat would escape. He looked up at the ceiling and clenched his jaw. He would be dead on that alleyway if Queen hadn't reacted and attacked the guy about to gut Quentin. And now, instead of Quentin being either dead or dying, it was Queen that now struggled for his own life. 

And what the hell was that supposed to mean? Quentin was the cop; Queen was just a spoiled rich kid. 

That was all wrong.

Minutes dragged to hours and Queen continued to sleep. Quentin checked on him from time to time, making sure the bleeding hadn't resumed and checking if his abdomen was rigid. So far, both continued to come back okay. He was no doctor but Quentin concluded that the best explanation for the cold sweating was that he was getting an infection. He'd seen it before. An old partner almost died from having his small intestine punctured. The doctor had said that bacteria had spilled into the abdominal cavity and had set up a big nasty infection that had eventually entered the bloodstream and left him in septic shock. 

He sighed. If that was the case, then Queen didn't have a lot of time. Quentin got up and banged at the door.

"Hey!" Bang-bang-bang. "Hey, anyone there?"

"Shut up!" a muffled voice came through.

"The kid isn't doing so well. He needs a hospital!" he yelled. "Hey!" He banged a few more times when no answer came. "So far, all you've got going is assault and kidnapping, but if he continues to get worse it'll be attempted murder and if he dies then it's murder one."

"Shut the hell up!"

"Your big bucks are slipping away every second it takes to get medical care!"

"You'll join him if you don't shut up!"

Quentin rubbed his face then turned away from the door. "Dammit!" he shouted. 

Of course they didn't care. Probably thought they had nothing to lose. Maybe they would kill him as soon as they got the money and run away, leaving both bodies to be found eventually. In any case, it didn't look good. Quentin had to do something.

He walked over to the small window and tiptoed to try to see anything outside. He saw nothing to indicate civilization. There were no lights, no movement, no sound. He hadn't seen or heard a thing since he had awakened in that cell. 

He tried to slip a hand through it, but only managed to tap a couple of inches with his fingers, feeling nothing but dirt. They must have been moved to a distant part of the city. He smelled faint salty air and imagined they must be facing the ocean and that was the reason he couldn't see any city lights. 

He moved back to the wall and sat down, grunting in frustration. 

Two hours later, Quentin was sure that Queen had an infection. Low body temperature had given way to a burning fever and Quentin removed his coat jacket, revealing a shirt drenched in sweat. Queen moaned from time to time, his head rolling from one side to another and eyelids fluttering. He would then be completely still until he returned to moaning to only grow still again. 

Quentin didn't know how long he'd been watching Queen. All he knew was that each time, Queen spent less time still and more time moaning. There were times he thought the kid would open his eyes but ended up lolling his head to the other side to moan some more. His breathing came faster and his face was permanently crunched up in an expression of pain. It didn't look good.

It didn't look good at all. The kid had little time but no matter how much Quentin banged and yelled, nothing besides "shut the hell up" came through. 

Another hour passed. Maybe it had been longer, Quentin didn't know. The moment Quentin was really not looking forward to had begun mere moments before when Queen started to murmur. At first, Quentin had no clue what the kid was saying, but then managed to distinguish a "no" or two in between unintelligible mumbles. 

More words became clear. 

Lots of negatives. Usually a "no", "I won't" or "can't". 

Then pleading and whimpering and more incoherent blabbing.

Quentin closed his eyes and clenched his jaw when Queen started repeating his dead daughter's name. Quentin felt tears sting in his eyes then closed his hands to fists when the repeating didn't stop, calling, insisting and begging. He looked down at the bastard's face breathing hard then went back to watching the ceiling when he saw tears falling from the corner of a closed eye.

The negatives came back and Quentin almost thanked God. They were soon replaced by cries calling for "dad", pleading as Queen's breath hitched. 

It went on for an eternity. Names that Quentin didn't know, words that appeared foreign and a whole lot of negatives.

Hours went through and the blabbing and murmuring eased going back to moaning and then finally silence. 

Quentin placed a hand on Queen's forehead, feeling it still warm and sweaty. He checked the bandage and poked his abdomen. Maybe the fact that he wasn't bleeding neither internally nor externally was a good thing. Maybe it meant the blood vessels had clogged and didn't allow for the infection to reach the blood stream. 

Or maybe it meant it would take its sweet time torturing both of them before the final blow. 

The thing that Quentin did know was that he was looking forward to getting the hell away from Oliver Queen.

**~*~**

Quentin saw a very faint morning light starting to filter through the window when he opened his eyes. He inhaled sharply when he realized he must have fallen asleep then tilted his head down to check on Queen. He looked pale, his skin still clammy.

A low buzzing sound made Quentin snap his head around. More familiar whining sounds appeared to be gathering around and made Quentin stand up to look at the window. Red and blue lights shone through the inside of the cell coming from the small opening, making Quentin yell and wave his hand through it to call their attention. 

He figured he must not have been heard as the noise of gunfire started at the same time, going from the back then to the side until finally settling somewhere far beyond the door. They eventually lowered to smaller numbers, getting closer and closer until they died off to be followed by quick footsteps striding on the other side of the metal door. 

Quentin walked over to the door and banged on it a few times. "In here!"

A loud bang came then more light came in as the door opened, a dark skinned figure stepping inside, nine mil at ready. Quentin opened his mouth to call his partner's name but stopped when he realized it was Diggle, Queen's bodyguard, who hurriedly fell to the side of his boss' body accessing his condition. 

"What happened to him?"

"He was stabbed reacting to the assault," Quentin answered. 

"God, Oliver," Diggle said as he gently touched his client's abdomen and face. 

Cops hurried inside the small room, followed by paramedics and then finally his partner.

"Quentin. Are you all right?"

Quentin nodded. "Yeah. Queen on the other hand isn't doing so well."

He watched as the medics scrambled to action, hanging fluid bags and placing the patient on a gurney to be quickly wheeled out, Diggle following briskly behind. Quentin made it out of the warehouse where they had been kept, beachfront as he had predicted, north of the docks in an area surrounded by abandoned buildings. 

He nodded at his Lieutenant. "Frank."

"Quentin. Looking forward to reading your report on this."

"Looking forward to writing it," he lied. He was about to make another retort when he saw Laurel running past police cars, racing towards him.

"Dad!" she called as she embraced him.

He hugged her back, finally able to smile. "Laurel." He parted from her after a several seconds. "How did you…" She shouldn't have been able to sense his absence. She hadn't called him in weeks after the trap on the rooftop. 

Red eyes looked at him. "I had a terrible nightmare and tried calling you the whole night but you wouldn't answer." Tears run across her face. "I called the station but they said you weren't in so they started looking for your car." Her head turned around when she saw the gurney passing through getting into the ambulance. "Oliver. H-how-- what happened to him? Is he all right?"

"I don't know. He was stabbed a-and lost consciousness hours ago."

"Mister Diggle," she called as he passed and touched his arm. "Oliver…"

"They're taking him to Starling General."

She nodded and turned to face him. "I'm going to the hospital."

Quentin sighed but didn't protest. He also wanted to know how Queen would fare but he was also looking forward to a shower. And clean clothes, he remembered as he looked down at himself. 

"Well…"

"Go home," she said. "Get cleaned up. I'll call if there is any news."

"Okay." He turned to Frank. "Look--"

"All right," he responded before Quentin could say anything. "But I expect a full report until tomorrow. And the medics want to have a look at you too."

Quentin nodded. "I said I'm okay."

"Just humor me."

Quentin exhaled loudly but complied, following a young female paramedic to a second ambulance.

**~*~**

Oliver slowly opened his eyes, feeling fuzzy comfort all over. Faint light made him blink a few times until his eyes adjusted, familiar faces looking down at him.

"Hey there," Diggle said as he tapped his shoulder. "'Bout time you woke up."

Oliver's eyes turned to look at Thea who was smiling warmly at him. "Hey, sleepy head. The doctors spent the whole day saying you would wake up soon."

Oliver smiled. "Hey," he said, surprised at how husky his voice sounded. 

"You're lucky mom isn't here right now. Or you'd be getting an earful for ditching Mister Diggle like that."

Oliver closed his eyes. "Right." He opened them again and squeezed Thea's hand holding his. "Thanks for sticking around."

Her lips quirked even more. "Laurel came by earlier but you were still asleep and she had to go back to CNRI."

He nodded and closed his eyes as she kissed his forehead. "Will you be all right if I go now?"

He rubbed her shoulder. "Yes." 

"Okay then." She stepped back. "I'm glad you're okay."

He watched his sister as she walked out of the room then turned to Diggle who was sitting on a chair by his bed. 

"What happened?" Oliver asked.

"Long story short, Laurel was worried about her father and called the station. The police started looking for his car. They found it on the alleyway where you were attacked and ran forensics which led them to your location."

Oliver nodded. He didn't remember much from the captivity other than a whole lot of pain and cold chills. "How long?"

"You spent the whole night in that cell. Got an infection from the stab wound and have been in the hospital for nearly two days having a few ups and downs until you stabilized somewhere in the middle of the night."

Oliver sighed and looked up at the ceiling. A knock on the door made him snap his head down. He frowned when he saw the figure standing on the doorway, the very last person he would expect to visit him in a hospital.

"Detective?"

Lance walked into his private room. Diggle stood up from his chair glancing at Oliver before walking out, leaving them both alone. 

Oliver continued to watch the detective as he silently walked closer to his bed. 

"Mister Queen." He looked at Oliver up and down. "The doctors say you are recovering quite well."

"So I've heard."

A few seconds stretched in silence until Lance broke it. "Why the hell did you do that?"

Oliver shook his head slightly. "Do what?"

He waved his hand around. "Why the hell did you attack the guy with the knife?"

Oliver sagged into his pillows. He wondered how long Lance had been thinking about that. He glanced away from the detective's face and inhaled deeply. 

He would have to give the detective something. 

Oliver shrugged. "I… thought I could get the better of him." 

"It was six guys. Two were holding me but that still left four guys against you. Did you actually hope you would win that fight?"

Oliver didn't think a smile was the best way to convince Lance of the innocence of his act so he remained serious. 

"I… don't like going down without a fight."

Lance exhaled and looked away in exasperation. "Of all the stupid things, Queen!" He looked back at Oliver. "You almost got yourself killed!"

Oliver nodded and smiled faintly. "You're welcome."

Lance shook his head. "Next time I'll just leave you to be beaten up in a dark alley, you hear me?" 

"Okay," he said serious.

Lance turned around to leave. He stopped in the middle of the room then turned his head slightly backwards. 

"Thanks," he murmured. 

He then resumed his walk without looking behind.

**The End**


End file.
